


Better Than This

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Series: Stories about Shine [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1980s, Abuse, Angst, Believe it or not this does get sweet, Break Up, Domestic Violence, Drugs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, M/M, Recovery, References to Drugs, and please know that the final chapter is just cute, believe it or not this DOES get happy, but NOT cute between Shine and his abuser, it just starts out dark, no forgiveness for abusers in this story, please forgive me for how dark it starts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 06:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: On the fast-track to fame, rising pop-star Shine knows his newly resurfaced drug habit could ruin his career, as could his lover-turned-dealer, Jade. When Jade snaps, Shine realizes enough is enough, and he makes a promise to himself to recover.This is the story of Shine reclaiming his life, and learning that he deserves better than what he's gotten out of love. So, when he finds 'better' after a long recovery and in the midst of a comfortable fame, Shine is ready for him. Set in New York City, 1983-1985.(This story mentions the events ofThe Silence After Song, but you don't need to have read it to understand this.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, hey! More Shine! Who would've guessed!! Because each chapter was heavily influenced by one P!nk song, I'm adding those titles to the chapter heads. :) I became obsessed with how perfectly "Beautiful Trauma" fit Shine and Jade's relationship, and now we're here. But of course I had to end this story with Valen, so y'all can finally meet the man Shine spends the rest of his happy life with.
> 
> Sorry for how painful this is. I recognize abuse and domestic violence are very difficult subjects, and I will not fault anyone for shying away from reading this as a result. If you want to skip the actual violence, head to chapter 2 and you'll still have a good feel for what's going on. To skip to the fully happy scene for which you need no context, head to chapter 4!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tough times they keep coming_  
>  All night laughing and fucking  
> Some days like I'm barely breathing  
> Then after we were high and the love dope died, it was you  
> The pill I keep taking  
> The nightmare I'm waking  
> There's nothing, no nothing, nothing but you  
> My perfect rock bottom  
> My beautiful trauma  
> My love, my love, my drug  
> \- P!nk, "Beautiful Trauma"

_ He doesn't hit me _ , Shine would tell himself. Over and over again, after every argument, every bad night, he would force that reminder to the front of his mind. Partners  _ had _ hit him before, but Jade knew never to cross that line. Jade had a temper; he said shitty things.  _ But he doesn't hit me. _

 

_ I knew what I was signing up for. _

 

And, God, he did. 

 

He knew when they met at that party -- because he could  _ only _ have met Jade at a party -- a New York City loft stocked with B-list talent like Shine, but with enough drinking and dancing and drugs to satisfy all their ambitions for the night. (Shine politely turned down offers -- heroin, cocaine, ecstasy, valium-- no matter how good it all might have felt.)

 

He knew when he met Jade's eyes across the room -- across a sea of people gyrating in time to a timeless beat -- those bright blue eyes and pupils blown out with coke, and he knew this man was different, so unlike Harry that Shine could dare to carve out new space in his heart for him. Or for someone like him. It could have been anyone like him. (It was September, 1982, just months after he said goodbye to Harry for the final time, just months after he had closed the door on his first love and dared to try for a second.) 

 

He knew as he and Jade squeezed onto on the narrow balcony, the music from inside still too loud to talk, but quiet enough Shine could hear the honey in his accent when Jade asked his name, asked what he did, asked him to follow him home. (Shine never knew if ‘Jade’ was even his real name, if Jade's English parents were as eccentric as Shine's own mother had been. And they never talked about the past. Just the present. Just the future.)

 

He knew as they stumbled into Jade’s bedroom that night, Jade ripping buttons off Shine’s shirt because nothing was more important to him than skin. He knew when Jade forced Shine’s head down into the mattress and curled possessive over his back. He knew when he woke up beside Jade the next day and saw his own bite marks along Jade’s neck.

 

Jade was pure passion. It was what Sine loved most about him. Because Shine was pure passion, too, and that may have been the only thing they had in common. Until the cocaine at least. After Jade’s just-try-it cajoling, and after the onset of an addiction that gripped Shine nearly as quickly as the heroin had gripped him all those years ago, they had the cocaine in common.

 

And soon, Shine's goals became Jade's goals (a major label contract, a sold-out tour, the first half-million in the bank). Shine’s accomplishments became Jade's accomplishments (the contract, the tour, the first half-million in the bank.) 

 

And Shine's apartment became  _ their _ apartment, so when they argued and Jade threw plates and punched dents into the walls, Shine couldn't really fault him. All of this was Jade's as much as it was Shine's. Jade had that precious powder, an endless supply, and the weed and the ecstacy and the sex that fueled Shine's music. How had he ever created anything without it? Without Jade? He owed him his possessions at least.

 

Each day with Jade was a barrage of highs and lows, each high a little lower than the last, but still good enough. Good enough to keep Shine cutting powder lines, and to keep Jade at his right-hand side. A constant companion. A hype man, on his good days.

 

The bad days were bad. Jade “forgot” their safe word; Shine slashed his tires. Jade kicked Theo out of their bed because Shine was getting too cozy, then went out and fucked Travis the next day without telling Shine a word about it. Jade refused to visit Wanda's grave; Shine told his mother’s cold headstone that his boyfriend would come around. He didn't believe it. 

 

_ But he doesn’t hit me. _

 

The good days were good. They'd lay in bed all day some days, fucking and falling asleep and losing track of when the sun set and when it rose. Jade would pull him close at every party so everyone in sight knew who belonged to him. They would camp out on the couch, smoking weed and laughing at sitcoms as if they hadn't been screaming at each other moments before. Jade would sit on the floor and watch Shine play violin, looking at him like nothing else existed. “You're going to be famous,” he would say, even as contracts were signed and posters went up and Shine’s songs rode their airwaves, and Shine knew somewhere in his heart that he didn't need Jade to tell him that. He didn't need Jade.

 

But he did need Jade. For the powder. The sex. The music. So he forgave and forgot. It helped that he forgot  _ everything _ : dates of meetings and appointments, reasons for the arguments that got so loud they made their neighbors pound on the walls, the notes of his own songs.

 

A year passed, and when his new publicist said she was worried, said he was scattered and unpredictable and losing his spark, Shine ignored her as long as he could. 

 

But it was the truth, and he knew nothing would get better if he pushed it aside like he did everything else.

 

* * *

 

**September, 1983**

 

“Well?” Jade asked. 

 

The word yanked Shine out of a reverie, and he realized he’d been staring at the coffee table before them, where Jade had set out their mirror -- a little round portable, cocaine crusted at its edges from a thousand previous highs. He’d even cut a line for Shine right in its center, like a parent sliced a child's food. “If you don't want it, I'm doing it,” Jade huffed. “I would _ like _ to get out of here before the clubs close.”

 

“I don't want it,” Shine lied, and he forced himself to look away from that beautiful pure white, into the beautiful pure blue of Jade's eyes. “Knock yourself out.”

 

They were sitting on the couch, dressed for dancing and ready to leave, but Jade had wanted to get high before they got drunk. Shine didn't want to do either. He wanted both.

 

Jade's eyes narrowed, suspicious. Shine never turned anything down.  _ “My yes man,” Jade called him sometimes, kissing up his neck or whispering reverently up the shards of his spine. “My anything-goes. My whatever-you-want.” _

 

“Why not?” he asked, and Shine shrugged. In truth, he’d been practicing this for days, and he had his answer prepared. He’d just been waiting for the right time. And it was _ never  _ the right time. He'd learned that when he finally chose to kick the heroin, all those years ago. It was never the right time, but waiting made it worse.

 

“I think I wanna get clean again,” Shine said with as much strength as he could muster. He was terrified, down to his bones, not at the prospect of withdrawal or the uprooting of his life -- he had been through all this before -- but of the man sitting beside him on the couch. That should have been warning enough.

 

_ He doesn't hit me _ , Shine reminded himself as Jade straightened. 

 

“That publicist is getting to you,” Jade said dismissively. “I told you she was a poor choice. Get someone who's been in the industry long enough, they'll tell you. Every pop star’s on coke.”

 

“Not all of ‘em,” Shine protested. “And it ain't just Martha getting to me. I been thinking about it a long time.”

 

“She isn't an artist,” Jade snapped, gesturing to the line of cocaine as if it itself were art. “You’ve done your best work this year, since you let yourself of that tight leash you used to have. Why do you think you got your contract?”

 

“‘Cause I'm damn good at what I do,” Shine said. “And I been working at this my whole life. I ain’t written  _ bad _ songs this year, but I ain’t been on top of things like I usually--”

 

Jade stood abruptly, tossing his hands in the air, and Shine watched his back retreat, shoulder blades tight under his tight t-shirt, every muscle on proud display. “She’s just trying to stifle your creativity,” Jade growled. “Change who you are --”

 

“It ain’t just Martha,” Shine said again, louder this time so Jade could actually  _ hear _ him. Even when he was listening he didn’t hear  _ anything _ . Shine stood, following Jade around the table. “I already told you, I been thinking about it. And don’t you tell me the  _ drugs _ are who I am.”

 

“Alright, maybe not  _ who _ you are. But you’re  _ better _ ,” Jade said, wheeling around. “You’re better now than you were without them.”

 

“You barely knew me before!”

 

“I heard your demos. Pedantic, frivolous --”

 

“Oh don’t use your big words on me,” Shine scoffed, tossing a hand. “I don’t gotta understand ‘em to know you’re insulting me.”

 

“I’m  _ helping _ you. Don’t you want to be creative? Untethered? You don’t get ahead in this business by playing it safe!”

 

“What do you know about  _ this business _ ?” Shine said, edging closer. “All you do is hang around musicians’ parties and get ‘em their dope or their coke or whatever they think they need. I’m tellin’ you I don’t need it. I don’t want it.  _ That’s _ better.”

 

Jade’s hands clenched at his sides, dangerous fists.  _ He doesn’t hit me.  _ “Stop lying to yourself,” Jade spat. “Without the drugs --”

 

“Without the drugs I might get a good night’s sleep once in a while. I might --”

 

“You’ll be a boring nobody like you were when I met you,” Jade interrupted. “A walking, talking --”

 

“Shut up --”

 

“-- rehab center, and no one is going to put someone like that onstage --”

 

“Shut up!” Shine shouted, kicking the leg of the coffee table. The mirror rattled, and white powder scattered over its surface. Jade’s eyes narrowed. 

 

In a flash, he shoved past Shine and grabbed the mirror, wheeling back around. 

 

“So you want to get fucking clean, yeah?” He asked. “You want to get  _ fucking _ clean?” So quick Shine barely saw it, he raised the mirror and hurled it past Shine’s head, its edge a hair's breadth from grazing Shine’s cheek.

 

It crashed on the wall behind him, shattered into gleaming shards that caught and refracted the room's white light, and Shine’s heart stopped beating as he looked down at the wreckage. 

 

_ He doesn’t hit me. _

 

Jade advanced, grabbed him by the shoulders, shoved Shine down like he would shove a dog’s nose in its shit. “You want to get fucking clean?” He shouted in Shine’s ear, and Shine winced, curled arms into himself, and saw Jade in that broken mirror, his tight brows and red face in a thousand small reflections under a delicate dusting of spilled cocaine. “Fine!” With a rough shove, Jade released him, and Shine managed to catch himself before he fell. “Give it a fucking try, Shine. See if you can make it a day.”

 

Tears were stinging his eyes -- from pain or fear he wasn’t sure. But he never backed down when it came to Jade. He righted himself, wheeled around. 

 

“I was clean for two years before I met you,” Shine growled. “Two fucking years. And  _ that’s _ what got me the contract. That’s what got me this fucking apartment.” He stamped down on a shard of glass, and it shattered under his shoe. “That’s what keeps you fed and pays for your drinks at the bar and gets you into all those fucking ViP parties. Those two years I wrote the best songs of my life, and it wasn’t the goddamn drugs that did it for me. It wasn’t  _ you _ . All you done is keep me fucked up enough to deal with your bullshit, and I ain’t doing it no more.”

 

Silence fell around them like snow.

 

_ I didn’t mean it _ , Shine wanted to say.  _ I didn’t mean to say that.  _ But he had said it. And he  _ had _ meant it. He just hadn’t realized it was true until it was out.

 

Jade’s teeth were clenched behind his lips, his jaw twitching with the effort it took to hold back. He always held back just enough. Just enough. 

 

“So, what,” Jade said, voice dangerously calm. “Are you planning to drag me along on this recovery scheme of yours? Redeem me? Or are you going to watch me have a good time and live my life while you lose everything about you that makes you special?”

 

Shine stared at him -- this man he loved, who always knew how to cut right to the heart of his fears and insecurities. “Neither,” he choked out, and he strode over to the door, stepping over glass. Hand shaking, he gripped the handle. It was now or never, and he found even in the split-second he made the decision, part of him already regretted it. 

 

Still, Shine yanked open the door and stepped aside. “We’re done,” he said.

 

Jade stood stock-still, embedded in that brief second wherein his eyes flicked between Shine and the hallway waiting beyond the door frame. His whole body seemed to draw itself taut.

 

“Done?” he asked, voice ice as it left his lips. “You're -- you're _kicking me_ _out_?”

 

Shine steeled himself. He couldn't reclaim his life if Jade was still in it. A part of him had always known that.

 

“Yeah. I am,” he said quietly.

 

Jade crossed the distance between them in three long strides, and before Shine could even blink he took Shine’s wrist and yanked it from the handle. Slamming the door shut with one hand, Jade held Shine helpless in the other. Shine struggled, clawing at Jade’s fingers, but it was like a chinese finger trap. The more he moved, the harder Jade gripped.

 

“Let go of me,” he snapped, pulling back even as Jade’s hand tightened.

 

“No,” Jade said. “We’re going to talk about this.” His fingernails dug into Shine’s skin and Shine nearly doubled over trying to pull away. A tear squeezed itself from the corner of his eye. 

 

“Alright!” Shine said desperately, “we’ll fucking  _ talk _ , just let go, you fucking psycho!” 

 

“You can’t just kick me out,” Jade said through gritted teeth. He didn’t release his grip. “You can’t just quit. You can’t just decide to change our  _ lives _ . This is  _ my  _ home. You’re  _ my _ boyfriend. We make these decisions together.”

 

“That’s not--” Shine started, but Jade shoved him up against the door, its handle digging into the small of Shine’s back. 

 

“We make these decisions together,” Jade repeated. “That’s what love is. I  _ love _ you. And you love me, don’t you?”

 

_ Yes _ , Shine thought.  _ Yes, I love you. I love how much we laugh. I love that you kiss me in public and tell everyone I belong to you. I love the way you look at me like you’re proud of me. I love you so much and that’s what makes this so hard. _

 

“Yeah, I love you,” Shine said, and the tears that had been threatening to spill finally rolled down his cheeks. Jade’s grip relaxed slightly. Shine should have stopped there, could have let Jade believe that love was going to fix them. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t true. “I love you more’n I love me, most days,” he continued, bracing himself. “But you’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.” 

 

Jade shoved his body hard against Shine’s, eyes darkening, his free hand curling back into a fist. “I  _ made _ you,” Jade growled.

 

“You been riding my coattails since the day we met,” Shine snapped. “Freeloading on my royalty checks. You don’t get credit for that, and I ain’t dragging you along behind me no more. Now let. Me. Go.” 

 

_ Snap _ .

 

Shine didn’t register the impact at first. He felt a sharp bite of pain, heard a tinny ringing in his ears and the  _ thunk _ when the back of his head slammed against the door. He became aware of the hand around his wrist finally unclenching, the body against his moving away, and aware -- only when he cracked open an aching eye -- that there was a fist raised right in front of his face. Jade’s fist.

 

He winced, anticipating a blow, and only then realized that the blow had already come. Jade stepped back, and without his support Shine slid to the floor, his whole body trembling. 

 

It took a moment for him to move, to raise a hand to his face to feel the damage. When he did, a spot of blood slicked his fingertip, just under his eyebrow, and a tender ring of pain around his eye made it hard to blink. 

 

In complete shock, he followed the line of Jade’s legs up to his hands, hanging limp at his sides; his shoulders, slack; his lips, parted gently; and his eyes, wild and afraid.

 

“Shine, don't,” Jade said the moment Shine met those eyes. “Don't freak out.”

 

“You ... hit me,” Shine said, the horror of it far from sinking in, but doing its best. “You fucking  _ hit _ me.” His voice wavered over the words, vision swimming.

 

“I didn’t -- I didn’t mean to,” Jade said. “But did you hear yourself? You were getting hysterical. I had to do something.”

 

“I wasn’t hys--  _ hysterical _ ,” Shine protested. He grabbed the door handle to try to lift himself to his feet, but his legs were completely numb. Everything felt numb. “I -- I said  _ exactly _ what I meant.”

 

“No you didn’t,” Jade said, and he reached out, but Shine slapped his hand away before he could come close. “You didn't mean it, and I didn't mean it. It was just a stupid bloody argument. We have arguments all the time. Can we just --”

 

“No,” Shine said, cutting a hand through the air. “No fucking way I'm letting you off easy this time.” He struggled to his feet. Tears drew a cool streak against the inflamed puff of his skin. Blood rose to the surface where Jade’s fist had connected. 

 

“This time? Shine, I’ve never …” Jade lifted his own hand as if he couldn’t explain its actions. “You know it won't happen again. I’m not like that. I don’t hit you.”

 

“No,” Shine said, hand to his eye so Jade’s figure blurred before him in watery single-vision. “You don’t  _ hit _ me. You ignore me when I tell you to stop and get pissy about the shit that’s important to me. You make me walk on eggshells to keep you happy, and don’t ever tell me why you’re mad until you’re  _ so _ mad you can’t stop  _ yelling _ . You tell me who I can see and who I can’t and you never listen when I talk and you don’t pay for  _ anything _ but your goddamn drugs and you  _ pretend _ I owe you some massive fucking debt, but no, Jade,” Shine’s tone went icy. “You don’t fucking  _ hit _ me, do you. And that makes it all okay.”

 

“Shine --”

 

Shine wiped his nose on his sleeve, yanked open the door.

 

“Shine,” Jade said again, near panicked. “I'm not leaving until we talk about this.” He approached, hands out as of to take Shine by the shoulders. As if he thought he was  _ ever _ allowed to touch Shine again.

 

“No, you're not,” Shine said, stepping back into the hallway. “I am.”

 

And he turned away. And he ran.

 

_ He doesn't hit me _ , Shine thought again, bitterly, berating himself for ever thinking that was good enough, for ever thinking it would last. And he realized only then, only as he flung himself down the stairwell and toward the street, that it only ever mattered because Jade was always so close to crossing that shaky line.

 

Shine didn’t think he was the kind of man that deserved much better than that. But he wanted to try to be. He had to try to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Funny how the heart can be deceiving_  
>  More than just a couple times  
> Why do we fall in love so easy  
> Even when it's not right  
> Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame  
> Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned  
> But just because it burns, doesn't mean you're gonna die  
> You gotta get up and try, and try, and try  
> \- P!nk, "Try"

Shine didn’t know if he could call Martha a last resort when he had no other options, but if he’d had anywhere else to go she would’ve been the bottom of the list. They’d only been working together for two months. They hardly knew each other. And she thought he was a drug-addicted, sex-crazed lunatic who was just lucky enough to have a talent for music and showmanship that made those traits socially acceptable.

 

And the worst part was, she was right.

 

But Shine had to go to her. His aunts had been out of touch for months since they moved out of the city. His one sober friend, Destiny, lived with his sister and her kids, and their little apartment was crowded to the brim without Shine’s help. Everyone else he knew who might care about him was about as high as he was most of the time, or had drugs tucked in every corner of their apartments. Needles and pills and powders and all the things Shine needed to avoid right now.

 

So he went to Martha. His publicist, of all fucking people.

 

At least, he went to her office. She wouldn’t be there now -- this late at night on a weekday, but he’d seen her enter the door code on the keypad enough times to know how to get in.

 

He walked the long crowded blocks through Manhattan, weathering the slight chill in the air, tracing the streets he knew like his own fingerprints. He kept his shoulders hunched, sure every stranger he passed noticed the bruise rising over his eye or the nearly debilitating shaking of his limbs. 

 

So when he reached Martha's towering office building and punched in the code, when that door buzzed open and he wandered into a darkened corporate lobby, he felt safe for the first time in hours. Maybe days. Maybe a year.

 

Martha shared a space on the 5th floor with a few other publicists, all part of the same dinky PR firm, but she had her own office, and that’s where Shine’s footfalls carried him, up the stairwell, down a hallway, past a few doors he had only ever seen closed, and toward a darkened room with glass walls he knew well.

 

Past the blessedly unlocked door, he looked around as if he might find some answer to his problems, lit by the twinkling lights of the surrounding city. But there was no miracle here. Martha's large desk looked to buckle under stacks and stacks of paper, and the thin leather couch along the far wall was worn with the imprints of a hundred clients who had sat in that seat before Shine. He wandered over to it, itching and restless. 

 

But he had to rest. And the second he laid on that couch and closed his eyes, his body seemed to know it. Tension bled from him in a tidal wave, and he tucked his head into the armrest, trying to purge his headache with pressure.

 

It didn't work.

 

Curling onto his side, Shine wrapped a gentle hand around his bruised wrist, closed his battered eye, and cried. The silent, empty kind of tears that brought no more lasting relief than the drugs ever did.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere on the edge of Shine’s consciousness, something snapped. No, slammed. No -- it was a  _ door _ . A door clicked shut, and Shine’s whole body jerked at the sound, the infinite, horrifying possibilities of an unfamiliar place panicking him as he peeled his cheek off a leather cushion and blinked into the light of an early morning. 

 

White sunlight cast long shadows from the piles of paper on Martha's desk, like great black monoliths across the ground. In one of those shadows stood a woman -- or at least Shine assumed as much by the pair of shiny, black pumps she wore. Vision swimming into focus, he lifted his eyes up the frame of a petite, bird-like figure, registering a familiar shoulder-padded blazer, a familiar wreath of curly black hair, and a familiar, stern expression. The expression he’d seen every Jewish mother wear at some point in her life.

 

Were it not for the suit, Martha could have been the ghost of Shine's ma, back when she was young, back before the cancer made her frail.

 

“Shine?” Martha asked, the tension fading from her face as she met his eyes -- and undoubtedly saw the bruise. “What are you doing here?”

 

Shine forced himself to sit up, using his good wrist to leverage the little, weak movement. Every square-inch of his body ached and throbbed like an open wound.

 

“Crying on your couch,” he answered simply, though his tears had dried up hours ago.

 

“Why?”

 

“Most comfortable place in the office ain't it?” he said, patting the sofa gently. “But that ain't saying much. You considered an upgrade?”

 

“No,” Martha said, approaching, “I mean why are you crying? What happened?”

 

She settled beside him on the couch, delicately, and he could practically hear her going over worst-case scenarios in her head, likely terrified that her brand new client was about to suffer a scandal before he even really made a name for himself. Likely already drawing up contingency plans, or weighing whether or not he was worth retaining.

 

At that thought, guilt ricocheted through him like a bullet. “Ah, y’know I probably shouldn't've come. I'll --” He made to stand, but Martha's hand shot out. Even before it landed on his shoulder, Shine recoiled, and Martha drew back just as quickly.

 

“Shit, sorry!” She said, holding up her hands as if to show she’d keep them to herself. “I just --”

 

“No, it's casual, I should just go,” he said, but his voice was shaking. “Thanks, ah, for the couch. I mean, I guess ya didn't know I was using it and all but --”

 

“Shine,” she said, and fixed hin in place with a look. “You wouldn't be crying on my couch with a black eye at 7 a.m. if it were ‘casual’. Sit down. What happened?” 

 

The look in her eyes felt so familiar. Like she saw everything in him that he was trying to hide. He had never been good at hiding things. He was an open door of a person. A heart on a sleeve.

 

When he failed to speak, Martha’s eyes wandered to his bruise again, her expression forcibly neutral. “Did your boyfriend do this to you?” she asked, and Shine was vaguely aware, somewhere in the back of his pounding head, that he had never told Martha he was dating a man. Though considering he was wearing his club clothes -- a sheer shirt that draped off his shoulders, tight jeans, glitter dusted over his cheeks -- it probably wasn't a stretch to assume.

 

“Yeah,” he said as casually as he could muster. “Yeah he uh, he's got a temper, that one. Men, am I right?” The lame attempt at a joke would've been more convincing if his lip weren't trembling with the threat of more tears, or if his whole body weren't trembling at the memory of Jade's touch. A temper. It sounded petty, even ridiculous now.

 

Her face drew tight. “Did you call the police?” She asked, and Shine snorted, looking away.

 

“I dunno if you noticed,” Shine said a little bitterly, “but the police ain’t usually sympathetic to guys like me. ‘Sides, I got cocaine stashed all over the place. They’d take us _ both _ in, second they got a good look around.”

 

“Are you high now?” she asked, and Shine felt the question as if she, too, had raised her fist to him.

 

“Naw,” he said. “The thing is -- I mean. I think I gotta stop. I been thinking I should stop.”

 

Slowly, as if she had learned her lesson, Martha reached out and laid a hand on Shine's shoulder. “Good,” she said. “You stay right here.” He looked up to her, and saw nothing but sympathy in her eyes. “I'm gonna get you some water, some coffee, and we'll talk, okay? Next steps.”

 

She didn’t have to help him. Now that Shine was here, he almost didn’t want her to. But she wore the kind of understanding smile he hadn’t seen on someone’s face in so long. It was its own kind of drug.

 

So he nodded, too choked to speak.

 

It was only a few minutes later that Shine found himself leaning heavy against the back of the couch, holding a Walgreen’s bag full of ice against his eye. The cool pressure soothed an ache that throbbed at the very core of him. Though the ice didn’t reach into his bones or his heart or any of the places Jade had bruised in the last year, it helped. All he needed was a little help.

 

Martha had locked the door, pulled the blinds over the glass so her office mates couldn’t bear witness to Shine’s shame, and he’d listened to her make calls for the last few minutes, cancelling meetings. Now, she took one of the chairs from the front of her desk and turned it around to face him. 

 

Shine watched her, somewhat numb, through his one good eye. They hadn’t spoken since she’d returned with his water and coffee, and now he had no idea what to say. ‘Next steps,’ she had told him. That could mean anything.

 

Martha tucked her skirt under her thighs and lowered herself into the chair across from him, crossing her ankles as she settled back. She laid her hands -- adorned with sleek red nail polish and a modest wedding ring -- in her lap, and she stared at him.

 

He stared back, asking her without voice to fill the silence for him. He couldn’t take another responsibility right now.

 

Luckily, she seemed to understand.

 

“When I was 18,” she began gently, “I had a boyfriend. Nice guy. Met him at temple, and my mother told me ‘Martha, you be careful with that  _ shmegegge _ .’ He had big money, you know the type. She thought he’d love me and leave me. But I adored that man. Moved in with him right away, and my parents were so mad I thought they’d spit fire.” Shine stayed silent, watching her massage her hair as if to be sure it had kept its curl. Her eyes had fixed themselves to a spot on the floor. “I thought I was so lucky to be with him. And he made  _ sure _ I felt lucky to be with him. That way I’d let things slide. Give him concessions. And I tell ya, that man clocked me upside the head a hundred times before he knocked enough sense in me to leave. And even then, you know what I kept telling myself?”

 

Shine didn’t realize for a moment that she was waiting for an answer. “What?” he asked, his chest aching.

 

“I kept thinking I was overreacting. That I deserved it. That he really was a good man underneath it all. That if I really loved him I’d stick around.” She paused, sighed, shook her head as if even now, all these years later, a part of her still believed it. “Any of that sound familiar?”

 

Feeling exposed, Shine glanced away. The shadows were shortening along the floor. “He’s never hit me before,” Shine admitted. “And we fight all the time, so it ain’t like there wasn’t no opportunity. I keep thinkin’ it was just a big mistake. An accident or -- or something.”

 

“It wasn’t,” Martha said, scooting to the edge of her chair. “Shine,  _ tateleh _ , you listen to me right now. It wasn’t. He knew exactly what he was doing, alright? Anyone raises a hand to their partner knows exactly what they’re doing.”

 

“I know,” Shine said. “I mean, I  _ know _ . But ...”

 

“It’s tough,” she said. “I know it’s tough. But you gotta promise me right now you aren’t gonna go back to him after this.”

 

He adjusted the bag over his eye for lack of anything better to do, his gaze dropping to his wrist, where the ghost of Jade’s grip had raised little purple spots. “Why’re you helping me?” Shine asked. 

 

“Would you have really come here if you didn’t think I would?” He lifted his eyes to her. “Times like this, Shine,” she said, “you need someone to tell you you aren’t going crazy.”

 

“But you don’t even  _ like _ me,” he said, lowering the ice so he could see her with both eyes. “And, hey, I’m an asshole through-and-through. I promise I ain’t gonna blame you for it. Wouldn’t’a blamed you if you’d kicked me out the second you saw me.”

 

“You  _ did  _ break into my office,” Martha said with a little, sad smile. 

 

Shine didn’t really have it in him to return it. 

 

When he didn’t speak, she sighed, standing once more and coming to sit beside Shine on the couch. The cushion shifted slightly with her weight. “I don’t  _ not _ like you,” she said, patting his knee gently. “I’ve just seen enough kids like you with talent coming out their ears, throwing it all away for a good high or a good fuck or whatever else. You were throwing it away for both. It drives me crazy to see, that's all.”

 

Shine looked down. He was still trembling, but he didn’t think it was the lingering fear anymore. It was a familiar tremble, an itch that crawled along every nerve of his skin. In a few hours it would be insistent. In a day it would be insufferable. “I been clean before,” he told her. “Used to do heroin. Thought as long as I wasn’t sticking needles in my arm I was still okay, but I don’t … I don’t think I’m okay.”

 

“Of course you're not okay. You're a mess.”

 

“Thanks, Martha,” he said dryly. “I feel a lot better.”

 

She smiled. “Hey you won't get better if I lie, will you? You  _ aren't  _ okay right now, and that's the God's honest truth. But you will be. And that’s no lie either.”

 

He glanced up to her. “You sure?”

 

“Damn sure,” she said. “‘Cause I’m bringing you to my place. You’ll stay there ‘til you get back on your feet.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Shine said immediately, straightening. “I got money. I’ll get a hotel or --”

 

“You’re coming home with me,” Martha said, leaving no room for argument. “My husband, Saul? He doesn’t work. Stays home to take care of our little girl. He’ll help.”

 

“I have an apartment,” Shine protested weakly.

 

“Full of cocaine,” She pointed out, and Shine swallowed. 

 

“My stuff’s all there. If Jade ain’t broken it to pieces yet. My instruments and clothes and --”

 

“Then we’ll go there first,” she said. “Me and Saul will go with you, get your things. We can call a locksmith and everything so that fucker can’t come back.”

 

“What if he’s there?”

 

“You haven't seen my husband, huh? I know I never met -- what’s his name again?”

 

Shine nearly stuttered over its single syllable. “Jade.”

 

“Jade,” Martha repeated, committing the name to memory. “I never met this Jade, but all Saul would have to do is sit on the bastard, and he could crush the life right out of him.”

 

Shine snorted. “He’d have to catch him first.”

 

Squeezing Shine’s knee, Martha let out a laugh. “That’s why you’re bringing me, too,” she said. “And if that should fail,  _ Got zol af im onshikn fun di tsen makes di beste _ .”

 

_ God should visit upon him the best of the ten plagues.  _

 

Though it felt horrible to admit, Shine couldn’t wish that upon Jade. He could hardly stand the idea of changing the locks, keeping him out of his own home.

 

“I see that look in your eyes,” Martha said. “Don’t you dare feel guilt or shame for this, you hear me? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

 

“I’ve done a lot wrong,” Shine admitted. “But I just wanna do -- do the right thing this time.”

 

“You are,” she assured him, running a gentle hand up and down his back.

 

Shine gave her a weak little smile. “Y’know you’re a real good publicist. Above and beyond the call of duty, lemme tell ya.” 

 

She snorted. “I ain’t charging you for this one,” she said, a hint of a Brooklyn accent peeking out. Shine had always assumed she’d been trying to hide one. “Let’s call this a favor between friends.”

 

“Not to sound too needy or anything,” Shine said. “But, uh…”

 

“You need a hug,  _ tateleh _ ?”

 

When he nodded, Martha grinned and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him. Nestling his nose into her hair, he held her tight as she did the same. 

 

Martha had been beaten down before, and now she was here. She was strong, and kind, and she had a man who loved her, and she was capable enough to take on another person's baggage. She was right. He needed someone right now. Someone like her. 

 

And maybe, with a little help, he could get better. Be better.

 

Maybe, with a little help, he could become the kind of man that  _ deserved _ better.


	3. Chapter 3

**November, 1985**

**Two years later**

 

When the phone rang, Martha considered leaving it to go to voicemail. Telemarketers always seemed to call around dinner time, and she was busy, stirring the noodles, stirring the sauce, listening to Saul chattering away to their daughters behind her around the kitchen island. “No, mommy’s making dinner tonight,” Saul was telling six-year-old Belva, bouncing Sarah on his hip. The toddler was gumming her teething ring, completely oblivious. “You and me are going to go play and leave her to it.” 

 

“Can you get the phone first?” Martha called over her shoulder.

 

“It’s just a telemarketer,” Saul said. “We can let it ring.”

 

But Martha had a feeling -- just a feeling. And she’d been in this business long enough to know to trust her gut. “Nevermind, I got it,” she said, abandoning her pot on the stove. 

 

She lifted the receiver right as it started its last ring, and let out an exasperated “hello?”

 

“Martha, I met him.” No preamble. Shine sounded nearly breathless.

 

Martha tucked the phone against her shoulder, rolling her eyes as she met Saul’s. “Who?” she asked. “George Michael? I know you been trying to get on his radar for a while. Or wait, no, lemme guess. Prince?”

 

Saul nodded toward the phone, brows tight. ‘All okay?’ he mouthed.

 

In turn, she mouthed the word ‘Shine,’ and Saul’s concern melted away. He gave her a knowing little smile. 

 

“No,” Shine said over the receiver. “ _ Him _ . The love of my damn life.”

 

Martha pulled the phone cord taut and wandered back to the stove, listening to Saul telling Belva to keep her voice down and follow him into the living room. Out the corner of her eye, she watched her family retreat. No help from Saul tonight, it seemed. Martha stirred her noodles again, shaking her head.

 

“Well?” Shine’s voice said. “C’mon, Martha. You ain’t got nothing to say to that? I finally meet the  _ one _ and you’re just gonna leave me hanging?”

 

Closing her eyes for patience, Martha sighed. “Shine, not to sound  _ too _ enthusiastic, but didn’t you say that about the olympic swimmer? And that guy from Devo?”

 

He let out a little huff on the other end of the line. “One:  _ Robert  _ was Devo’s producer, not  _ in  _ the band, remember? And  _ two _ : This is different, Martha,” he said, and she wondered how it could be. Two years she’d known Shine, seen him go from talented nobody to one of the biggest stars in the country. And though he’d gotten off the drugs a long time ago, other habits remained, and his long and oft-anonymous string of lovers continued. 

 

“What’s he like?” she asked, becuase Shine might be an idiot, but she loved him anyway, and she could indulge him his latest flight of fancy if it meant making him happy for a minute.

 

“Alright, are you sitting down? You should sit down.”

 

“Yup.” She was not sitting down. The kitchen timer rattled and buzzed on the counter and she rushed to shut it off while she grabbed a strainer for the pasta.

 

“He’s -- no joke, Martha -- near seven feet tall, body like a Greek god,  _ but bigger _ .”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Thick Irish accent --  _ Irish _ , Martha. You know I love a guy with an accent. Red hair, big rough hands -- he’s a carpenter.”

 

“A  _ carpenter _ ?” She set the strainer full of noodles at the bottom of the sink, grabbed the phone and straightened. “Not a pro-wrestler or something?”

 

“Well, a woodworker,” Shine corrected, the tone of his voice suggesting the new ‘love of his life’ had corrected him before, too. “And you won’t fuckin’ believe this. I met him while I was drunk off my tuchas, throwing myself at him, right?”

 

“That sounds like you,” she said, and had no doubt Shine would’ve stuck his tongue out at her if he’d been in the room. 

 

“And I -- okay, so I wasn’t wearin’ my hat or sunglasses or nothing, and I told him my name --”

 

“Shine,” Martha sighed. She’d told him to stop airing his identity while cruising for a lay. Knowing the clubs he frequented, his sexuality could become a publicity nightmare if he weren’t careful.

 

“No, no it was fine. He had no clue who I was! Never heard of me in his life.” 

 

Returning the phone to her shoulder, Martha leaned on the counter and stared out the window without really seeing the backyard, her attention a little more focused on Shine at the moment.

 

“How?” She asked. “This woodworker of yours live under a rock, does he?”

 

Sometimes, Martha could practically hear the expression on Shine’s face. “ _ Apparently _ . But Martha that ain’t the weirdest thing.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Get this. We spend all night talking. I invite him back to my place. He follows me to my room. Lays me down on the bed --”

 

“Shine, I don’t need to hear--”

 

“And tells me he’s gonna get me some aspirin and water. Puts it on the nightstand for me, helps me outta my shoes and _ leaves _ .”

 

“What?” 

 

“He didn’t even fuck me,” Shine said. “And I gave him  _ plenty _ of opportunity, let me just tell ya.”

 

Martha blinked. Granted, this was a little outside Shine’s usual pattern, but the way he was talking it was like he’d found a unicorn. “Okay,” she said cautiously. “And?”

 

“He  _ didn't fuck me _ , Martha,” Shine said, as if the meaning in that were obvious. “Says he wants to get to know me first. Can you believe that?”

 

“Shine, that's usually how relationships work,” she said gently, wondering how he got to age 26 without learning as much.

 

“Well not in my experience,” Shine said petulantly. “We been on three dates, now. Three actual, honest-to-God, hand-on-my-heart dates. And he  _ still _ hasn't fucked me.”

 

“And that is… a good thing,” She said.

 

“Trust me, if you lived the life I lived, you'd be a little surprised too.”

 

She considered that, considered the athletes and the actors and the musicians. Considered, as she often did, Jade, whose name had never quite left her mind. And she smiled. “You seem really keen on this one,  _ tateleh _ .”

 

“Martha, you got no idea. I ain’t been this scared since my first plane ride,” Shine admitted. “And it feels just like that, like I just keep getting higher and higher and I ain’t got no control over nothing. Like I could just crash into the ocean or keep flyin’ all the way to Mars. Y’ever -- y’ever feel like that?”

 

Martha put a hand to her mouth to hide her smile, glancing around her little kitchen. Sarah’s high chair stood off to the side of the counter, where a couple toys had tumbled onto the floor. Saul had left his reading glasses and book by the back door, where he always left them when he asked Martha if she’d seen them recently; and Bel’s drawings, in blocky crayon, plastered the fridge. “Every day of my life,”  she said finally. “I promise it doesn’t feel so scary after a while.”

 

“I hope you’re right,” Shine said. “‘Cause I gotta keep this guy around.”

 

“What’s his name?”

 

“Valen,” Shine said nearly wistfully. “Valen Siobhan Dougherty. Ever hear a name like that in your damn life?” 

 

Martha left the noodles in the sink and went back to the phone cradle, under which she always kept her phone book. “Dougherty with a D?” she asked, “And he's a woodworker you say?”

 

She tossed the book on the counter and began flipping. “Yeah, furniture and stuff,” Shine said suspiciously. “You know him?”

 

Martha scanned the names as she shook her head. “No, no, just wondering. He got his own business?”

 

“Yeah, been livin’ here in New York about six years. Got a little workshop he ain’t let me see yet. Says it’s too ‘modest.’ ‘Course I told him I been literally homeless before so it ain’t like I’m gonna judge, but I don’t think that helped too much.”

 

She flipped through the yellow pages, scanning, and saw out the corner of her eye an ad for Dougherty’s Authentic Designs, a furniture studio.

 

“Martha?”

 

She realized she’d been silent too long and straightened up, keeping the phone book open to that page. “Sorry, just thinking. I’m really happy for you, Shine. I get to meet this guy anytime soon?”

 

“Sometime,” Shine promised. “I just don’t wanna scare him off, you know? He’s like a baby deer.”

 

“You said he was seven feet tall.”

 

“A seven-foot-tall baby deer,” Shine corrected, exasperatedly. “But anyway, soon. Promise.”

 

Martha glanced down at the listing for Dougherty’s Authentic Designs. “I’ll hold you to it,” she said. 

 

But tomorrow  _ was  _ Saturday, and she didn’t have any plans. It wouldn’t hurt to check this guy out before any official meeting. Shine, by his own admission, hadn’t been in love since Jade -- and before that not since his first disaster, some older guy named Harry. She’d be damned if she’d let this Valen guy break Shine's heart. 

 

Martha didn't have any siblings, not by blood, but if she had to say anyone in her life had felt like a little brother, it would be Shine. He had been through enough. He was fragile. But Martha was made of iron enough for the both of them.

 

“Alright,” Martha said. “I gotta get dinner on the table, Shine. You gonna be good?”

 

“I’m great,” Shine said sweetly. “I just -- you know. Just got back. From the date. Had to tell  _ someone _ .”

 

“I’m glad you told me,” she said, smiling. “You have a good night,  _ tateleh _ .” 

 

“Yeah you too. Give Saul and the girls a kiss for me.”

 

She smooched the phone, Shine smooched back, and Martha hung up the receiver.

 

“Everything okay, honey?” Saul called from the living room. In the background, Martha could hear her daughters playing; high-pitched giggles and the click-clack of plastic toys along the hardwood floor. 

 

“Peachy,”  she called back. “Five minutes til dinner!”

 

Collecting herself, Martha returned to the sink and tapped the noodles to shed the last of the water. She knew she couldn’t protect Shine -- especially not from himself -- but she could see an early warning sign, if one existed. Spot any red flags. She’d known abusers and drug addicts and more general assholes than she could count. If Valen were any one of those, she’d know.

 

* * *

 

**The next day**

 

Martha dropped her purse by the door, keys clattering into their bowl. From the other room, she heard Belva’s excited squeal, and before she knew it her daughter was launching herself through the dining room doorway and right at Martha’s waist. Still a little numb, Martha bore the impact and patted Bel’s head as Bel wrapped her arms around her.

 

“Hey, bubaleh,” Martha said softly. “Where’s daddy?”

 

At that moment, Saul stepped into the entryway, wiping his hands on the apron he was wearing. “Honey,” she said, but Bel tugged her hand before she could continue.

 

“Daddy’s making lunch,” Bel said. “Cake!” And she ran off into the other room.

 

“You’re making cake for  _ lunch _ ?” Martha asked, and Saul shrugged, coming over and taking her gently by the elbows. They kissed softly, and he pulled away.

 

“For dessert, I promise,” he said. “Bel’s been watching it rise for the last twenty minutes. Easily entertained, I guess.”

 

She patted his round belly, and smiled. “It’s sugar-free, right?”

 

With no more answer than a sheepish smile, Saul took her hand and led her through the dining room toward the kitchen. “How was the -- what was it? Furniture studio?”

 

Martha’s smile fell a little. “Yeah.”

 

“You were gone a long time. Thought maybe you went ahead and ran some other errands.”

 

“No, no,” she said. “Just the studio.”

 

“You met Shine’s boyfriend, then?” He paused just on the threshold of the kitchen, looking back at her, and she glanced down.

 

“I, yeah, I did.”

 

“And? Did he win your seal of approval?” Saul was smiling, and Martha couldn’t bear it.

 

Meeting his eyes once more, she put a hand to the side of her face. “I accidentally bought a new dining set,” she said helplessly. “I’m so sorry, I know I should’ve talked to you first, but he was  _ so nice _ , Saul. And I told him all about you and he promised me you’d like the design just as much as me. He’s throwin’ in a high chair for free, for Sarah. Just ‘cause he knows she’ll grow out of it soon and he doesn’t want us spending too much money, even though he’s makin’ it himself by hand, Saul. By  _ hand _ .” It all flew out of her mouth in a rush, and Saul took her by the shoulders, holding her eyes.

 

“Slow down, honey,” he said. “Start again. A new dining set?”

 

She nodded. “And high chair,” she added. “Don’t be mad, please. We’ve got plenty in savings and it’s gonna be so damn beautiful and he was so sweet I couldn't just leave with nothing.”

 

Saul laughed, bringing her into a hug. “I don’t mind,” he said, “really. I’m just surprised he made such an impression on you. I thought he’d be -- well, given Shine’s history…”

 

“He’s a goddamn angel,” she said, tucking her nose into her husband’s shirt. “I swear to god if Shine fucks this one up I’m disowning him.”

 

“You can’t disown a client, honey,” Saul said, laughing. 

 

“Watch me.” She said. “I love this man. You know I was tryin’ to be stealthy, just scope him out. Said I needed a dining set ‘cause what the fuck else was I gonna say? And he goes off about how the dinner table’s where all a family's memories get made and he asked me about my  _ kids _ . And he said he liked the color of my  _ nail polish _ , and--”

 

Saul pulled away slightly. “Should I be worried?” he asked on a smile. “It sounds like he was hitting on you.”

 

From the kitchen, Bel let out a squeal. “Daddy! It’s bubbling!” 

 

“That’s the sugar, Bel,” he called out, then turned back to Martha.

 

She patted his cheek, rough with stubble, and smiled. “That’s the best part,” she said. “He was pure as a fucking fresh snowfall. If anything I was hitting on _ him _ . Didn’t even mean to, I promise. But he’s a six-foot-seven hunk who fed me fresh biscuits and jam he baked  _ himself, _ Saul. You would’a done the same.”

 

Saul let out a little huff. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “Does Shine know you went to meet him?”

 

“No, but he'll forgive me when he finds out. Just had to make sure, you know? That this one was okay.”

 

“Feel better, then?”

 

She made a noncommittal gesture with her hand. “Ehh, I will once I balance some books.”

 

“How -- how expensive was this table, exactly?” Saul asked, and Martha shooed him away.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’s  _ artisanal _ . Now go on and finish your cake. I'll check on Sarah and be right there.”

 

He gave her a skeptical kind of look, but ultimately turned and made his way into the kitchen. “How's it looking, Bel?” he asked, and Martha turned away, casting her eyes over her modest dining room.

 

For a moment, she stood there regarding that old table. It  _ was _ outdated, no doubt, a dark wood that didn’t match the chestnut finish of the rest of the house, that echoed styles she’d seen in magazines in the ‘70s. But more than that, it was covered in discarded mail and invoices, kids’ toys and bits of Saul’s manuscript scattered about. 

 

As she stared, she imagined all the clutter cleared away, imagined her new table -- a _ full _ table. Saul, Bel, Sarah -- maybe the baby she hoped was on its way -- and Shine and his damn perfect boyfriend sitting there for seder. Shine deserved a man like Valen. He really did. 

 

God willing he managed to hold onto this one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I've never written a love song_  
>  That didn't end in tears  
> Maybe you'll rewrite my love song  
> If You can replace my fears  
> I need your patience and guidance,  
> And all your loving and more  
> \- P!nk, "Love Song"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to [my wife](https://unpickingthetangles.tumblr.com/) for providing the dialogue for Valen in the following chapter, and for helping me edit the first three parts of this. Valen is her character, so it was so awesome of her to let me borrow him. <3 Love you, baby!

**December, 1985**

 

Shine rested his arms on the dashboard and settled his chin there, staring out over a veritable sea of cars. Their red brake lights glowed in neat rows, winding down the highway like Christmas decorations, gleaming out from the gentle snowfall. On the other side of the road, orange and yellow headlights whizzed past, and Shine wished, not for the first time, that their destination lay in the opposite direction. There must have been an accident up ahead; even Brooklyn traffic wasn't usually this bad. As the sunset drew a pale glow over the horizon streaked with inconsistent clouds over the skyline, he sighed.

 

“We ain't gonna make our reservation at this rate,” he whined, flopping back on the seat and turning to Valen, who seemed perfectly content with his fingers drumming the steering wheel, his large figure filling the frame of the truck's cab. “I told you we should'a taken the turnpike.”

 

Valen sighed, giving Shine a little smile. “Apologies, Shine. I thought that -- oh, I don’t know what I thought.” He met Shine’s questioning eyes. “It might have been faster,” he agreed, “But I thought this would be a more -- more  _ romantic _ route.”

 

Shine raised an eyebrow and looked out the window once again, scanning the skyscrapers on either side of the highway. It wasn't even a particularly nice part of Brooklyn they were driving through. Confused, he turned back to his boyfriend -- his somewhat boyfriend. His nearly-boyfriend. His if-he-played-his-cards-right boyfriend.

 

“Romantic,” he deadpanned, and Valen chuckled, that deep, warm laugh that always made Shine's heart skip. 

 

“The architecture along this stretch here,” Valen explained, waving a wide hand to indicate the clogged road. “If you look, there are some buildings you can tell are turn-of-the-century, classic brick, old advertisements painted on the sides. Isn’t it just lovely to look at?” He pointed toward one smaller building, tucked behind a large steel edifice. Shine could just make out the corner of an old-fashioned ad for what looked to be a cleaning product fading to near-nothing.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Shine said. “And how's that romantic, big guy?”

 

“Because most of these other buildings went up in the ‘70s. All the steel beams and square windows -- you know, that cold, unfeeling, utilitarian look you like so much.” 

 

With a laugh that Shine tried to turn into a scoff, he drew his eyes up the height of a nearby skyscraper, and Valen gave him a little smile in the window reflection. Taking a hand off the wheel, he settled it on Shine's thigh. “My world and yours,” Valen finished sweetly. “Living in harmony.” Shine glanced down at Valen’s hand, pretty sure he was hallucinating it until Valen’s fingers curled gently against him. Valen almost never touched him so casually, and  _ certainly _ not without asking permission first.

 

Before Valen could even think to draw it away, Shine laid his own hand over Valen's and squeezed, holding it gently. It's not like Valen would need it anytime soon. They were gridlocked.

 

“You're a weird fuck, you know that?” Shine asked, and Valen laughed a little. 

 

“Says the fella with purple hair.”

 

Shine snorted. “Well, looks like we're gonna have plenty of time to appreciate the architecture,” he said dryly. “And at least  _ you _ don't mind running late.” He punctuated this with a smile, if only so Valen knew he wasn’t all that upset about it either.

 

“Why would I mind?” Valen asked, meeting Shine's eyes. “I get to spend a little more time with you.” He paused, and his hand curled a little tighter around Shine's. “After I mucked up our first kiss I didn't think you'd call me back. ‘It was nice while it lasted,’ I told myself. ‘Best lock yourself in the workshop and never leave again.’”

 

Shine leaned forward, catching Valen's eyes. “Okay, roll it back there, big guy. You really think I'd finally get that kiss I been waiting for and just leave it at that? You got another thing coming.”

 

Valen's cheeks went hot, a magenta blush clashing horribly with his red hair. “I don’t like to presume,” he said. 

 

With sudden, melodramatic gravity, Shine grabbed Valen’s hand with both of his. “Presume, I'm begging you. At any given moment I'd rather be kissing you than not, and that ain’t no exaggeration.” Valen turned his eyes to him shyly, and Shine’s heart ached. “Like, now is good, you know,” he added. “You could presume now, if you wanted.”

 

“Maybe I don’t want to kiss you now,” Valen argued for the sake of it. And Shine grinned.

 

“This gorgeous face?” he laughed. “These pouty lips? C’mon, they're begging for it.”

 

Licking his lips gently, unconsciously, Valen leaned across the small space between them, and Shine leaned in turn. They met gently, their hands tightened, and Valen drew away.

 

It was chaste, like everything they did, but Valen wasn't as stiff as he had been the first time. Or the few times since. He was loosening up day by day, minute by minute, and Shine couldn’t have been more delighted. He’d never met someone so careful, so gentle, and he wanted Valen to know that even though he might be anxious to get laid, he didn’t want anything about Valen to change. Just to, oh,  _ bloom _ . Open up a little bit. Open up to him. The sooner the better, admittedly.

 

Traffic crawled forward, and Shine nodded toward the road. “Big guy,” he said, and Valen seemed to tear his eyes away from Shine’s face, barely taking his foot off the brake before setting it down again. Inches.

 

Shine wiggled Valen’s hand and returned his eyes to the window. “Wish we could call the restaurant. Tell ‘em we might not get there in time.”

 

“Why did you want to go here so badly?” Valen asked. “I could make whatever they make at home.”

 

Shine knew that quite well, having been treated to more than one of Valen’s dinners since they'd started dating just a few weeks ago. The man was a hell of a cook, and undoubtedly put Shine’s favorite restaurant to shame. He blinked over the lights, brighter now with the sun nearly down, the sky fading blue and purple.

 

“It’s a nice place,” Shine said a little evasively. “I mean, for $200 a plate it better be. But yeah, no I just wanted to, uh.” He paused, and out the corner of his eye he watched Valen turn to him. 

 

“Everything alright?” He asked, and Shine shrugged, fingers tightening around Valen’s.

 

“Yeah,” he said brightly, meeting Valen’s eyes to ground himself again, to remind himself where he was, and with whom, and why. “I just wanted to treat you is all.”

 

“You know,” Valen began, then shook his head with a little smile. “Ah, nevermind.”

 

“What?” Shine asked.

 

“Well, you know if we follow this road here,” he pointed lamely in the direction they were heading, “just about, oh, an hour or so, there’s this little town, and a restaurant that makes the best perogies you’ll ever eat in your life. Been meanin’ to take you there someday. We could just keep driving, if you wanted.”

 

“Perogies?” Shine perked up like a cat at the sound of a can opener. “Wait just a minute. You just suggesting that ‘cause I’m Polish?”

 

“You’re Polish?” Valen asked, and Shine rolled his eyes.

 

“Trzebinski,” he said simply. If his nose didn’t give it away, his last name usually did.

 

“I didn’t want to p--”

 

“Presume, I know,” Shine said, squeezing Valen’s hand. “So the  _ best _ perogies you say? Don’t forget I grew up in a whole  _ building _ of Polish immigrants. I know a good pierogi. I used to  _ live _ on perogies.”

 

“Ah, yes, noodles and potatoes. You’re the noodle and I am the potato, again our worlds meet.” Valen’s voice went reverent, and Shine snorted. 

 

“You callin’ me a noodle?” Shine asked, giving Valen a little good-natured shove. Valen chuckled.

 

“You’re noodle-adjacent.”

 

“And you’re my big, manly spud.” He trailed a fingertip down Valen’s bicep, but if Valen felt even a shiver at the fliration in Shine’s voice, he didn’t let on. Damn.

 

“Ay, I’ll take that,” Valen said gently. 

 

They went quiet for a second. Ahead, the traffic looked to be opening up, everyone moving forward bit by bit. Maybe they’d cleared the crash, or whatever it was that had held everyone up. To Shine’s disappointment, Valen pulled his hand away, setting it back on the wheel as they drove on. Shine flexed his fingers.

 

“An hour or so, you say?” Shine asked. “To this town, I mean.”

 

“Thereabouts,” Valen said with a shrug. “It’s just a suggestion,” he added quickly. “I’m sure your restaurant won’t mind if we’re a little late, you bein’ a very famous pop star n’all.”

 

Shine loved the way he said that. As if it didn't matter any more than his purple hair or his noodly figure or anything else about him that just  _ was _ . He stared out over the highway, considering. “You know it’ll be like, what, 7:30 by the time we get there. 11:30 by the time we get back?”

 

“You’re planning to spend three hours eating pierogies?”

 

Shine nudged him with his elbow. “Hey I ain’t had real, good Polish food since ma died. Just tryin’ to be practical here. Budget time efficiently and all.”

 

“Well, in that case we might get back a little late,” Valen conceded. 

 

“Or, and I’m just putting this out there,” Shine said quickly. “We could find a motel. Or something.”

 

Beside him, he could almost feel Valen stiffen up. Before Valen could get the wrong idea, Shine laid a hand on his shoulder. “I ain’t suggesting anything,” Shine clarified. “I know you ain’t ready yet and I swear that’s casual. Just -- might be nice. Spend the night together. Platonic cuddling only. Like a sleepover. You had sleepovers as kid, didn’t ya?”

 

Valen’s eyes flicked back to him. “No, I didn’t. But I gather the idea is to sleep-over someplace that is not your own.” 

 

Shine could see him considering it, and he grinned widely, the kind of smile that used to get him into exclusive clubs long before he ever made it to the ViP list. “That’s the gist,” he said. “I mean, usually there’s bad movies and popcorn involved, but I’ll settle for motel TV and a belly full of  _ kopytka _ or whatever else they got at this restaurant of yours.”

 

“I do know a bed and breakfast around that way,” Valen said gently and Shine patted him on the thigh.

 

“Well then there we go. Drive on then, big guy. This sounds fun. A little adventure. You know I never been to a B&B before?”

 

“Never?” Valen asked, and he seemed surprised for some reason.

 

“Yeah,” Shine said, shrugging. “They’re quaint, ain’t they? And I bypassed ‘quaint’ full-stop. I went straight from shitty motels to luxury suites. Shit to riches, ain’t that the phrase?”

 

“Rags to riches,” Valen corrected absently. “It’s the alliteration.”

 

“I think I like the assonance better.”

 

Valen gave him a bemused little look. “I’m surprised at your word use.”

 

“I write songs for a living, you know,” Shine said, but he was a little proud all the same. 

 

“Sure,” Valen said, “but you talk like --” he caught Shine’s eye. “Like a genius, is what you talk like,” he corrected swiftly.

 

Shine laughed, leaning back and putting his feet up on the dashboard as they sped on. “Good save, big guy,” he said fondly. 

 

For a moment, they drove in silence, passing the exit they would’ve taken to get to the Italian restaurant. But whatever town lay past the open road sounded much more intriguing.

 

“You’re sure you don’t mind this?” Valen asked, and he sounded so  _ un _ sure Shine couldn’t help but touch him. He laid a hand on Valen’s thigh -- god it was thick as a tree trunk. 

 

_ Focus. _

 

“Yeah, why the hell not? I probably don’t wanna go back to that damn restaurant anyway. This’ll be better.” And it would be. It was with Valen; it could only be better.

 

Valen’s side-eye wasn’t lost on him. “You seemed pretty set on it earlier,” he said. “Best pasta in the city, you said.”

 

Shine shrugged. “Yeah, well. It is.” Valen’s responding silence was short-lived, but it was heavy enough Shine knew he was curious. And Shine didn’t mean to sound so suddenly petulant without any explanation. “Thing is,” he explained, laying his head back on the seat, “last time I went to this place was with, ah, Jade. And, you know, I wanted to make better memories there is all.” 

 

Valen’s big, bushy brows drew together, but he kept his eyes steady on the road. “Is Jade a person or a band?” he asked, and Shine let out a hollow little laugh. Of course, Valen wouldn’t instinctively  _ know _ . Jade was like Shine’s dirty little secret, a single source of shame in a shameless life.

 

“An ex,” Shine said, wondering how it was possible to condense everything Jade had been into those two words. Valen’s expression tightened very slightly. “Huge dick,” Shine added, almost in reassurance. “Biggest asshole I ever knew.” The tension faded slightly, and Valen flicked his eyes back to Shine. There was a question in there that Valen wasn’t going to ask -- he was too sweet to ask, but Shine felt like he should answer it anyway.

 

“He was my dealer,” Shine explained. “Not the heroin. After that. He’s the one who -- I mean I got  _ myself  _ on coke. But if I was to say anyone  _ helped _ , it’d be him.”

 

“And you were … dating the fella?” Valen asked. Shine grimaced, but more out of embarrassment than anything else.

 

“Yeah. ‘Bout a year, I’d say?” He shied away from saying it was the longest relationship he ever had. Not the best thing to bring up to a new boyfriend. “But, you know, second I said I wanted to get clean he got real mad. Beginning of the end, I guess.”

 

Valen’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand,” he said. 

 

Shine sank down a little in the seat. “Well, you know how it goes. He made a lot of good money off me and my friends. Lived in my apartment rent-free long as he kept me high.”

 

“So …” Valen paused, his face tight as he seemed to digest this. “This huge prick was mad,” he said slowly, “because you wanted to stop. Doing drugs.”

 

“Yeah? I mean, he didn’t _ say  _ it was ‘cause he was losing his meal ticket or nothing. He said it’d ruin my creativity, change who I was. Said I wasn’t, oh,  _ special  _ without it. I told ya,  _ biggest _ asshole.”

 

Valen’s hands clenched around the steering wheel a little tighter. On a long exhale of breath he had seemed to be holding, he said, “There is so much _ cruelty _ in that, Shine.”

 

Shine glanced over at him, some of his own recalled rage fading only because he saw the anger and heartache in Valen’s own eyes, and wanted to soothe it. “I mean, I ain’t disagreeing,” he said. “But it’s okay now.” 

 

It was, wasn’t it? Two years and some change between him and the worst year of his life. He was better now, than he used to be.

 

“It is only ‘ _ okay _ ’ if you can tell me now that you don’t believe a damn thing he said about you,” Valen said. 

 

“Oh hey now,” Shine said, patting Valen’s leg. “Don’t you worry about me. I got millions of people tellin’ me I’m special every damn day of my life.”

 

“Those millions of people weren’t datin’ ya,” Valen said with a push of emotion behind the words, “The  _ one _ person that really mattered should have told ya that you were special when he had the chance.” 

 

“To be honest, big guy,” Shine said, “I think that says more about him than it does about me anymore. But don’t go thinking I’m  _ too _ well-adjusted, now. Took me a while to get that.” He let out a little puff of air, a not-quite laugh he hoped might diffuse some tension.

 

“Speaking selfishly for myself here,” Valen started, “It took me 32 years to find a man like you. Three decades of everyone else seeming to fade into the background noise. You’re like one of those damn booming-boxes those kids are carrying around these days. If that doesn’t tell you how unique you are, I don’t know what will.” 

 

Shine watched Valen’s profile for a moment, lit by the yellow headlights of passing cars and the streetlights beginning to glow up above them and the shadows of passing semi-trucks and that gray gleam of a winter’s twilight. He felt his own cheeks heat at the compliment. He couldn’t remember the last time someone -- let alone someone who wasn’t yet getting sex out of the deal -- had been so concerned with reassuring him. “Y’know, that’s a weird way to phrase it but alright, nothin’ new here. Truth is, if I didn’t believe it before, the fact you’re dealing with me …” Shine shook his head. “Yeah, I feel pretty good gettin’ your attention, big guy. You’re like a seven-foot-tall Mother Teresa who makes me food and thinks I’m ‘beautiful.’ Your word, not mine. I got real lucky meeting you.”

 

“You say that now, but you don’t know I built a creepy fan shrine to you back home.” 

 

Shine laughed loud, tossing his head back against the seat. “Oh shut up,” he said through a giggle. “You didn’t even know who I was a month ago.”

 

“Or so I made you believe,” Valen said, his voice low and falsely dangerous. “Maybe I’m the fella who’s been writing those letters you’ve been getting. President of the fan club.”

 

“I invited you to Carnegie Hall to see my show --  _ Carnegie Hall _ \-- and you thought I was playing at a school gymnasium,” Shine reminded him. 

  
Valen let out his own little laugh. “I swear I’d heard of the place,” he said, the ruse dropped. “I just didn’t know it was quite so big. Or fancy, for that matter.”

 

With a laugh and a disbelieving roll of his eyes (though he  _ could _ believe it, now, knowing Valen as he did), Shine returned his gaze to the window, where the district they’d been passing through had given way to a host of smaller buildings, none of the modern architecture remaining. 

 

“One thing I like about you, big guy,” Shine said, leaving unsaid that the list of things he liked about Valen was growing far too quickly for comfort, “is I know for a verified fact you ain’t after my money. Far as I can tell you ain’t after a damn thing.” He smiled, seeing his reflection, and Valen’s behind him, in the window. 

 

The levity faded for a moment, likely due to their earlier topic of conversation, and Valen gave him a quick glance. “You still have this ‘Jade’ in your address book?” he asked. “I might be inclined to pay him a visit. _ Encourage  _ him to see how wrong he was about you.”

 

“That so?” Shine asked, turning to him once more. “You’ll talk his ear off about woodturning apparatuses and the best way to sand a table?”

 

“I was in the army, Shine,” Valen reminded him, though his biceps and tree-trunk thighs and large, rough hands were reminder enough that Valen was much more than met the eye. “I killed people.”

 

Shine let out a nervous chuckle. “You ain’t gonna kill ‘im,” he said, though he was becoming less and less sure of that as the moments wore on.

 

“I might toss him out a fuckin’ window, let the concrete do the killing.” Valen said genially. 

 

_ That wasn’t the worst of it, _ Shine wanted to say _. One bad argument wasn’t near the worst of it.  _ But he couldn’t tell Valen the worst of it. God, if Valen wanted to kill Jade for that alone -- if Valen was willing to let out a rare curse word at that alone ... That was the part of their story Shine was most willing to forgive.

 

“Well, then I sure as shit hope you never meet him,” Shine said. “I’d hate to see you wind up in the big house ‘cause of me.”

 

“It’d be worth it,” Valen said. “I’m sorry he did that to you, Shine.”

 

“It’s okay,” he said. And he meant that. “‘Cause now I’m here. And we’re about to get the best perogies you’ve ever eaten, and cuddle up at a nice B&B.”  _ And we’re going to laugh, and we’re going to talk, and you’re going to tell me all about woodturning apparatuses and the best way to sand a table, and we’ll fall asleep together tonight for the first time and hopefully not the last ... _

 

“There’s a river, too,” Valen mentioned. “Maybe we could take a walk after dinner.”

 

“I’m planning to eat so many potatoes you’re gonna have to roll me,” Shine said, nudging him. “But yeah, sure. That sounds real nice.”

 

Valen could have suggested anything and Shine would’ve said it sounded nice. Because making new memories with Valen sounded better than overwriting old memories with Jade. Everything with Valen sounded better. 

 

And, for the first time in his life, after all these long years of work and heartache and trying so hard it half-killed him — after Harry and Jade and the olympic swimmer and the actors and the musicians and all the relationships that ended in either carelessness or cruelty — Shine felt like he  _ deserved _ ‘better.’

 

“Hey, Valen?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m glad you didn’t take the turnpike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, if you got this far, haha! <3 I love and appreciate you so much for taking a chance on Shine. I hope to write more with him and Valen someday! <3


End file.
